Conversion
by Anhilare
Summary: An Orthodox Missionary worms his way into Camp Half-Blood. With him comes Byzantium, the majority of Greek history, and Christianity. Will the pagans survive the threat to their own religion and culture? Pretty crackish, but also kinda serious?


**Hah, I haven't written for PJO for nearly a year...**

 **There might be a lot of inaccuracies and OOC behavior since I haven't read the series for like 2 years. This is all from memory, 'cause let's be honest—reading fanfic won't be the best way to remind me of everything.**

 **Oh, well.**

* * *

When I heard that the pagan gods were actually real, I was shocked. I just can't believe it. In fact, I don't believe that they're even gods. They're something else. They must be. After all, God is the only god.

Hearing that they were actively, uh, _active_ shocked me even more. All I could do was feel pity for their poor bastards, forced to obey their every whim.

Therefore, I decided to investigate and see if a mission was feasible. The bishop was enthusiastic, of course. Together, we found out where they dwelt. It was an empty field.

"How could it be that they're all concentrated here?" I asked. "There's nothing here except strawberries."

"Well, the pagans have remained undiscovered for two thousand years, so they must have disguised themselves with witchcraft. They should be here, but invisible to us. I have other matters to attend to, so I trust that you do it well."

With that, I was alone. What a helpful man.

I pressed forward. I heard cars whooshing behind me, and I idly thought how ridiculous I must look. Look at me, forging ahead to the perilous strawberry field. What a challenge, such accompl—

 _OW._

There was a wall. An invisible wall. A wall of nothingness. I figured that the heathens must enter _somehow,_ so I held my hand aloft, rotated my palm away from myself, curled my fingers into my palm, and swiftly flicked my wrist in the wall's direction thrice.

 _Knock. Knock. Knock._

I waited patiently until a boy no older than 18 appeared out of nowhere.

"Uhh, can I help you?" he inquired.

"Yes. As you can see, I have tried to enter your area, only to fail. I am intrigued by what is going on here, so I have come to investigate."

He cocked his head at me, then turned his head and bellowed to someone about clear-sightedness.

Then with a "c'mon" he dragged me into the area.

Before arriving at the field, I had performed some basic psychic exercises which would open my mind and allow me to see more clearly. As I looked around the area (which had suddenly spawned a variety of equipment out of nowhere), I felt that the rigorous training was quite unnecessary, at least until I saw the centaur.

"So, do we have a clear-sighted mortal here?" it asked.

"I would like to think so," I replied. "30 years I've lived and I've never needed glasses or any kind of visual supplementation, ever."

"That's not what I mean. Basically, can you see monsters prowling about?"

No, I couldn't. I would never tell it that. "I see one right now."

Silence.

"Well, alright then. Okay. So that's a yes?"

"Make what you will of that" was my response.

I was then given an impromptu tour of the apparent camp.

"What's that?" I was pointing to a jar filled with green fire.

"That's Greek Fire. Funny story, really. The Byzantine Empire loved this weapon, but do you know who made them? The crafty children of Hephaestus, of course. A pagan invention for a Christian Empire. You see, it's made with magic that—"

"Lies. Πῦρ Ῥωμαϊκόν _[Roman Fire; one of the names used by contemporary scholars for Greek Fire]_ was invented by Kallinikos of Heliopolis, a _Jew_ , in the late 7th century. The Byzantine government kept the secret of its production so well that when it fell 800 years later, the knowledge died with it. Πῦρ Ῥωμαϊκόν was never green. What you have here is fake."

"Oh. Well, then." Pause. "So, uh, over here is Canoe Lake."

It went on like that for 2 painful hours.

Then I was shown a video, the contents of which I shall _ne_ _ver_ speak of.

As I was walking from the room containing that terrible orientation film, I noticed someone peculiar. Well, he looked normal enough (except he wasn't obese, which is strange for American children), with a bush of brown hair atop an acne-plagued blue-eyed face. He didn't _feel_ normal, though.

Then, with all the pride and prejudice in the world, he said to me, "Oh, he's the new mortal?"

My only reply was, "What, and you're _not_ mortal?"

"Well, I am now, but I used to be the god Apollo before my father cursed me."

"You lie. There is no way that you can be something that doesn't exist."

"Did you not see the orientation film?"

"I hated it. Its contents have been wiped from my mind."

"Ah, you're just in denial. Everyone goes through it. You'll accept it eventually."

No, I wouldn't. "No, I won't. Do you really expect me to believe that the sun is carted around the Earth in a chariot pulled by four fire-horses?"

"Of course. It's true."

He was like a wall. Most people don't talk to walls. So I stopped.

As I walked away from the sputtering boy, I noticed devils walking around, and I wondered if this place was damned _[in Medieval Christianity, Satan was depicted with goat legs and horns]._ I uttered a prayer to Andréas Prōtóklētos.

Dinner was barbecue. I ate my beef while I watched everyone burn theirs.

"You're supposed to sacrifice your meat to the gods." The centaur was talking.

"What, do the gods like their meat extra crispy?" I continued chewing.

"Uh, no. The fire will consume the meat and magically transport it to the heavens."

"I can sacrifice my meat to _any_ god, right?"

"Yes, good. You're learning."

Yes, I was learning how to say what they wanted to hear. Good job, me.

I walked over to the fire. I only had one tiny piece of meat left, so I cut it in half and decided to use the smaller piece. Everyone was staring at me. I raised my hand.

"Yes?"

"So, how exactly do I dictate to whom the meat goes?"

"Just mutter their name and a prayer. It'll work."

I muttered a prayer to the One True God, the Lᴏʀᴅ, and then struggled to flick the meat off my fork. I mean, _it just would not come off!_

The poor piece of meat burned into ashes.

"What a waste."

Then the next person dumped in his best and biggest piece. It too burned into ashes.

"That's weird. It normally works."

"Maybe your god is full," I suggested.

Apparently, everyone took me seriously, because Centaur said, "could be."

Well, then.

I was forced to bed in the main building because they wouldn't let me go home. Before I fell asleep, I thought about all the work we'd have to do to convert them.\

There would be _a lot._

* * *

 **I will continue this. Please excuse any inaccuracies, I haven't read the books in over a year...**

 **Thoughts and opinions? Leave a review and feel free to give suggestions! I have an ending planned, which I won't say, but I don't know how I'll get there. I welcome and even encourage ideas.**

 **There will not be a regular schedule due to my unpredictable school workload. In mid-March and mid-April, there will definitely not be an update due to SATs and ACTs. Weekend updates are also unlikely due to SAT practice sessions on Khan Academy.**

 **Hope you enjoyed it!**

 **-David**


End file.
